


See Me After Class

by KBeautimous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Anxiety, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Comfort/Angst, Dom Castiel, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Irresponsible BDSM Practices, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Professor Castiel, Reader Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Self-Esteem Issues, Subdrop, Tattooed Castiel, Teacher Castiel, Teacher-Student Relationship, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KBeautimous/pseuds/KBeautimous
Summary: You need extra credit in Professor Novak's class.He has some ideas about how you can make up your grade.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the TV show Supernatural, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.  
> \- No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.  
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this. This whole story is dedicated to the three of you <3  
> \- This is a lot different than what I usually post. It is legit going to be a lot of porn and a lot of feelings. That's... All. So if that's not what floats your boat, I might skip this one if I were you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Hi, lovely readers. This is the part that I tell you that pretty much everything that Castiel does in this chapter was NOT OKAY. A Dom/Sub relationship is not to be entered lightly, and not without a long, extensive talk. I had to dance a fine line to 1) make him not a total douchebag, and 2) get the story to go the way I want it to go. So, to recap. This is not what real life should be like, however, this is fanfiction, so I got to do what I wanted. Thanks, lovelies, and as always, I can't put into words how much it means to me that you continue to read what I write.

You slide into your seat at the long table, grateful for the couple of minutes that you have before the majority of your class comes piling in. It gives you some time to collect yourself, and to get out the notebook for the Mythology and World Religion class that you’re sitting in. Not that you have a _lot_ of notes, but it feels better to be prepared.

It’s not that you’re not a good student, because normally you are. You’ve always been a straight A, punctual, “joy to have in class” student. You take impeccable notes, you can pump out a five-page essay in two days, and you’re attentive as hell.

Until now.

 _Well,_ you reflect as students start trickling in, _I’m still attentive, just not to the course material._

In the next flock of people, Professor Novak enters the classroom, and the tension of everyone but him ratchets up a notch.

It’s _his_ fault that you’re struggling in this class. Sure, when he walks in, he’s got that trench coat on that hides everything. As soon as he takes it off, though, your whole brain neatly flatlines.

How are you supposed to concentrate when he peels off the trench to reveal a well-cut suit? The dark fabric stretches to showcase his broad shoulders and thick chest, then comes down to accentuate his flat belly and narrow waist. His thighs are thick with muscle, you’re certain he’s a runner. Who can expect you to learn when he’s always rocking “I just fucked someone silly” hair and two-day stubble? Or those soul-piercing blue eyes that stop your heart every time they pass over you (they never seem to actually see you, though, and you’re not sure if you’re upset or grateful about it)? He talks with his hands, too, and it’s so easy to be distracted by his long, elegant fingers as he gestures, thinking about them running through your hair or pressing bruises into your thighs.

 _There._ Right _there_ is the problem with one Professor Castiel Novak, Ph.D. While he’s busy teaching, you’re busy ogling and fantasizing.

It’s just that you’ve never been _affected_ like this before. Oh, yeah, you’ve been attracted to people. You’re not a _virgin,_ for fuck’s sake. But you’ve never wanted someone like you want Novak. It’s not just physical, even though the thought of him bending you over his desk and fucking you until you scream makes you squirm in your seat.  No, if it was just attraction, you could deal, and you wouldn’t be struggling to pass his class.

You have an honest-to-God, doodling hearts in your notebook _crush_ on the bastard.

The goodness and kindness just _radiate_ off of him. His eyes are compassionate and warm, and he’s so earnest when he talks about coming to him with questions or concerns. As much as his plush mouth makes you think of dark bruises sucked onto your inner thighs, his wide, delighted smile makes you think of sunshine and picnics.

In short, you are _fucked._ You can’t be in the same goddamn room with him and focus on anything else. Hell, even on the day he was out sick and you had a sub, you were so worried about him that you didn’t absorb _any_ information.

You’ve got it _bad._

You’re confident, though, that your lovesick heart is your secret. You don’t doodle his name, you don’t write little notes to him, you try not to even _look_ at him for too long. So it’s definitely not obvious to anyone but you. Hopefully.

“All right, everyone,” that ridiculous chainsaw voice cuts through the chatter. “Settle down. I know it’s the end of the day, but let’s focus and get through this together.”

_Not likely._

He pulls paperwork out of his briefcase and shuffles through it for a moment before he looks up at everyone again. “All right, who can tell me where we were?”

A blonde girl’s hand shoots up from the front row. Novak smiles kindly. “Yes, Becky?”

“Chapter three, Professor.”

“Thank you, Becky. So, in chapter three, we were learning about the Aztec gods…”

His deep voice lulls you into a kind of trance as he teaches. His hands gesture wildly when he makes a point, and the way they wrap around the dry erase marker when he writes down important facts on the board makes your mouth go dry. His blue eyes sparkle as they dart around the room, trying to include everyone.

They _do_ land on you, but only briefly. You’ve never been able to participate much in class. Not that you don’t _want_ to, it’s just that every time his eyes meet yours you die a little, so you tend to stutter and mumble. So while you kind of want to always be looking at him, it’s a blessing when he moves on, no matter how kind those lovely eyes are. He looks at you several times a class period but rarely asks for your input anymore.

Which is a good thing, because you’re so busy checking him out that you have no fucking idea what he’s talking about.

_I’m so fucked._

* * *

A week later, you’re staring warily at the plaque on his door that proclaims it the office of _Professor C. Novak, Ph.D._

_He’s just a person. You can talk to a person._

You’re not just struggling in Mythology and World Religion, you’re very soon going to be failing it. Just the thought has your heart in your throat and your chest constricting painfully. You checked the midterm grades this morning and have been panicking ever since.

 _Of course it’s him._ This is your punishment for letting your little crush grow. Now you have to not only talk to him _face-to-face,_ you have to admit that you need help. To a man who has somehow totally put you under his spell.

_You can do this. Just walk in there like you own the place._

Luckily, this is the only class in which you’re having trouble. All you have to do is get through this one meeting, then you can go home and cry into a tub of ice cream in your sweatpants.

_All you have to do is ask for an extra credit project to make up for your grade. It’s going to take-_

“Y/N? The door is open, you know.”

You jump a little, then close your eyes. You can feel yourself blush furiously, but you open the door.

Professor Novak is sitting in his desk chair with his long legs crossed and his feet kicked up on the desk. His laptop is propped up on his thighs _(thick thighs, runner’s thighs, stop looking at his thighs, stop thinking the word “thighs”)._ He’s not looking up from the screen, thank God, but he does lift one hand to summon you further into the room. “Go ahead and shut the door behind you and have a seat. I’ll only be a moment.”

You’re helpless to do anything but what he asks. This is as casual as you’ve ever seen him. He still has the suit on, hasn’t even taken his jacket off, but he’s usually standing or sitting with perfect posture. Seeing him slouched in his chair is throwing you off a little.

You sit in the little armchair situated on the other side of his desk. You drop the messenger bag you carry at school on the ground next to you gently. You’re off-kilter, and it doesn’t get any better when he sits up, places his laptop on the desk, and turns those big blue eyes on you.

He clasps his hands together and places his elbows on the desk. His eyes bore into you, intent but kind. “What can I do for you?”

 _Jesus, that voice._ “I… Um…” _Fuck,_ this is so embarrassing. You’ve never had to do anything like this before. Hopefully he doesn’t ask _why_ you’re having trouble.

He just looks at you patiently, and the eye contact is a little overwhelming. You close your own eyes and take a deep breath before you blurt out, “I think I need extra credit to pass your class.”

When you open your eyes, something is flashing in his own gaze, too quickly for you to interpret. “Oh?”

“Look, I’m usually a really good student. If you look at my transcript, I’m doing well in all of my other classes.”

His body language is changing, and it’s _distracting._ He’s somehow becoming relaxed, but more alert at the same time. It’s almost like he’s… Challenging you?

It’s making you nervous, so you start to babble. “And I like your class, I really do, you make it very interesting. I just am having, I dunno, trouble, or whatever. So I don’t know if that’s something you even do, but it would be a big help.”

Something is going on and you’re not sure you know what. There’s some sort of… _Tension._ It’s building in the air between the two of you, making your spine tingle and your palms sweat. You’re extremely aware of the closed door to his office. You fight to keep your breathing even.

He looks at you, outwardly calm, but something in his is wild and predatory. You realize with a sort of detachment that you’re getting wet. You clench your things, grateful that you wore just jeans and a t-shirt today. Soaking through your panties in a dress would have sucked.

“Professor Novak,” _why am I whispering?_ “I just need another chance. I can do better.”

He raises what you’ve dubbed his “dom eyebrow” and your heart stops dead in your chest for a second. “Do you think that’s all you need, Y/N?” he murmurs.

 _Oh, God._ The realization of what this is crashes over you. Outright fear starts your heart racing again, and you feel your eyes widen. _He doesn’t know. He_ can’t _know._ “Wh-what?”

You’ve been subtle, right? You’ve definitely been ogling the man at every chance, but you have the decency to be _ashamed_ of it. _There’s no way._

“You think I haven’t noticed you watching me, little girl?”

 _Oh, God. He definitely knows. This is how I die._ Your face is on fire from the hard fast blush that rises on your cheeks. “Oh, God, Mr. Novak. I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed, I-”

“Professor.”

That brings you up short. “E-excuse me?”

“You will address me as ‘Professor’ from now on.”

The speed with which heat consumes you leaves you dizzy and aching. You suddenly know what’s going on. You’ve pictured it in great detail, surround sound, high definition, a thousand times. You want it so bad it hurts. You’ll waste time later trying to figure out the “why” and the “how” of it. You’re completely caught up in the riptide that is Castiel Novak’s blue eyes on yours.

Your voice is little more than a whisper when you reply, “Yes, Professor.”

His pupils dilate as he smirks. “Good girl.” you make no effort to hide the way those words send a shudder through you. He watches hungrily. It makes you a little breathless.

He stands, and the urge to get up and back away strikes you. But you weren’t told to move, and you know how this game is played, so you stay. You do clench your hands on your knees, trying to quell the trembling in your fingers.

“Extra credit,” he muses, making his way around his desk. “I’m sure we can think of something you can use.”

You follow his progress as he approaches you. “I have faith in you, Professor.”

The closer he gets the more light-headed you are, until he’s leaning back against his desk right in front of you. He crosses his arms, and you let yourself a good look from his legs, up his torso, his thick arms, up until you meet his eyes.

“What should I do with you?” he wonders in that whiskey voice.

“Anything,” you say softly, “Professor.”

The eyebrow goes back up. “Anything?”

You swallow hard and nod.

He reaches out slowly, giving you plenty of time to back out, as if that’s even a thought that’s crossed your mind. He gently cards his fingers through your hair, and you tilt your face just a little into the touch.

He smiles, and his whole demeanor softens. “If you like, I can help you the normal way, and we can forget all about this. I can just give you the study guide.”

If you even had any doubts, they’re gone now. You have no idea why he wants you, or why he wants to do this with (to) you. This moment, though, when he lets the dominance fade so he can cradle your face in his big hand and give you an out, lets you know you’re going to do whatever he wants.

“I think the normal way hasn’t really been working for me so far,” you say, lowering your eyes demurely, “Professor.”

His hand tightens in your hair, making your breath stutter. When he pulls your head back to make you look at him, the softness from before is gone. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?”

You whimper and squeeze your thighs together again. “Yes, Professor.”

His blue eyes are lust-blown and _burning._ He tugs you forward, and it’s no work at all to slide off of the chair and kneel in the space he makes by spreading his legs for you. You wince a little when your knees hit the ground and he frowns. Before you can apologize, he lets go of your hair. “Stay,” he demands imperiously, like there was ever any chance of you going anywhere.

He unbuttons his jacket and whips it off while you watch in a haze. He kneels in front of you, and the lack of space puts him so, _so_ close. He smells incredible, and you’re shameless when you run your nose down his neck when he leans closer.

His lips brush your ear. “I want you to kneel on this, love.”

You’re a little drunk on all of this proximity, so it takes you a beat to respond. “I don’t want to wrinkle it.”

His chuckle rumbles in your ear. “I would much prefer you be comfortable than for my coat to be unscathed.”

For some reason, those are the words that make the whole thing sink in. It becomes shockingly obvious what he wants to do. Just the thought of it has your mouth watering. You immediately shift so that he can slide the wadded up jacket beneath your knees. It’s not the same as a pillow on a bedroom floor, but it’s close enough for you.

Once you’re settled, he doesn’t stand back up right away. He cups your face with one hand and just looks at you. _Jesus, the guy must have some sort of eye contact kink._

“You’re sure?” he asks.

His caution is understandable, but even if this has been the most surreal ten minutes of your life, you wouldn't be on your knees if you didn’t want it. You don’t want the grade _that_ bad.

“Yeah,” you rasp. “I’m sure.”

He nods once, then gracefully rises to his feet. Once he’s at his full height, the dominance is back on his face. The only thing that belies his absolute control is the way he’s tenting the front of his slacks.

“You’re sure, _what?”_ His voice is imperious, the tilt of his chin haughty as he looks down at you.

You squeeze your thighs together again in an attempt to relieve the throbbing between your legs, but don’t let your gaze waver. “I’m sure, Professor.”

His eyes darken further, and you watch in delight as a shudder works its way through him. Without further prompting, you lean forward to nuzzle at the base of his dick through his pants. You can feel it twitch against your face, and a tiny smile lifts the corner of your lips.

“Take my cock out,” he husks, one hand reaching back to rest on the back of your head. “You may use your hands.”

You’re honestly a little surprised when you see that your fingers aren’t trembling when you reach up to slowly undo his belt. A huge part of you is still expecting to wake up from this (admittedly very detailed) dream any moment now. The rest of you is just focused on getting his dick in your mouth. That part makes it easier to pop the button, then slowly slide the zipper down, savoring the moment.

The briefs he's wearing are simple, but the way his cock strains against the dark fabric, coupled with the wet spot of precome at the tip, makes them the most mind-blowing sight you've ever been presented with. You honest-to-God gasp as the weight of his belt pulls down the edges of his slacks, baring more of him to your gaze.

You don’t even bother looking up at him as you gently pull the waistband down. There’s just no way you’d be able to contain the whine that escapes you when his cock is freed, so you don’t try. It’s long and thick, curved up against his belly proudly. The head is shiny with precome, and you’re almost completely overcome with _want._

You do glance up at him as you tuck the waistband of his briefs beneath his balls, freeing your hands. His eyes are glued to you, his lovely irises just a thin blue circle around his wide pupils. His breathing stutters when you spread tentative fingers at his hip, tracing the sharp cut of it. You drop your eyes to watch, and your mouth dries up completely when you see the skin beneath your fingers.

_Tattoos. God help me, he has tattoos._

Dark, swirling ink frames the jut of his hip bone in dark blue. You can tell it’s part of a larger design, and there are mirroring marks on his other side. You lean forward to press a gentle kiss there, and when you hear the sharp intake of breath from above you, you don’t hesitate to bite down and suck lightly. The mark you leave is faint, but incredibly satisfying.

Before he can do anything but stave off the moan you can sense struggling to come out of him, you move your hand to loosely circle the base of his cock. Your fingers move smoothly through the wiry hair there, and you angle his cock so you can run your lips teasingly over the tip. His precome is bitter and slick on your mouth, and you might already be a little bit addicted to it. You lap over his slit with your tongue, smiling when his fingers fist in your hair convulsively.

“Fuck,” he mutters, the sound shooting straight to your aching core. You rest his tip on your tongue and look up at him, taking care to try to look as guileless as possible.

He sees right through you, not that you were trying that hard. His eyebrow goes up, and if you weren’t already on them, it would make you weak in the knees. He keeps his hand in your hair, but his other one grips the side of the desk, and he shifts his weight so he’s leaning back against it again.

Once he’s settled, he gives you an expectant look. “Well, go on. Show me that you deserve that extra credit, little girl.”

You let your eyes slip closed for a moment as another wave of desire and heat washes through you. _This might kill me._

_Ah, but what a way to go._

You wait another beat, just to be a brat, until his hands tighten just a little more in your hair. That’s your signal to swallow as much of him down as you can, using your hand to jack what you can’t fit into your mouth at the same time.

He makes a sound like he’s dying, and if you could smirk with your mouth full of cock, you would. Instead, you keep up hard suction and a steady rhythm. This is definitely not your first rodeo, and it’s not long before spit is running down your face from the corners of your mouth. Your jaw starts to get a satisfying ache to it, but you ignore it to keep going, keep moving.

The weight of him on your tongue is _amazing,_ all hard flesh covered by silky skin. He smells good down here, too, clean and musky. When he starts to give you tiny, gentle trusts, you tighten your hand on his hip encouragingly, and you outright moan when he starts to fuck your face smoothly.

You can’t get enough of this. There’s spit running down your chin now, and you’re making some interesting noises as he hits the back of your throat every time (and can you _get_ a hallelujah for having no gag reflex?). Both of his hands are in your hair now, holding you completely immobile as he fucks you, his balls slapping obscenely on your chin. You can feel how wet you are, you’ve probably soaked through your panties, and you would _kill_ for some friction down there.

But he hasn’t said you can touch yourself, and somehow, that means something to you.

He holds out for an admirably long time, and you’re almost entertaining the thought of tapping out, because your throat is starting to burn more than is pleasant with the way it’s stretching around him. Before the notion even really solidifies in your mind, though, his hips start to stutter against your face and his breath becomes more ragged and heaving than it was before.

“Y/N-“ is all he manages to grit out before you can feel him shuddering violently against you. The hair at the base of his cock is brushing the tip of your nose as he pulses down your throat, and your eyes roll back up into your head at the thought of him marking your insides white like this.

He gingerly pulls out of your mouth, running his thumb reverently along your bottom lip as he does so. You’re certain that you’re a mess, with your hair tangled and wild, your face flushed, tears in your eyes, your lips red and swollen. He’s looking at you like he’s about to _devour_ you.

You barely move as he tucks himself back into his briefs and does up his pants. He holds a hand out to you, and you take it to let him help you up. Your knees ache a little, but you’re still too deep in endorphins to really feel it, and his jacket _did_ help cushion them. He snaps it out to unwrinkle it as much as possible, then slips it on. You see, now, why he usually wears it, even during class. You can see more bright swirls of color on his arms and chest. The jacket hides the tattoos that show through his shirt.

_Jesus fuck._

Once he’s dressed, he abruptly wraps an arm around you and pulls you to him. You whimper and bury your face in his neck, your own hands coming up around him to fist in his jacket.

His lips are right next to your ear as he speaks. “I want you to go home now,” he purrs, “and I want you to wait to touch yourself until you get there, am I understood?”

You gasp and rock your hips forward helplessly, but you nod. You can’t say you’re _surprised_ that he’s not going to help you get off, not after that display of raging dominance, but a girl can dream.

“Good girl,” he coos. For a second, you think that you feel his lips on your hair, but it’s gone before you can confirm, so you must have imagined it. He steps away from you and you let him without a fight, still too wrapped up in being submissive to argue with him. He picks up your bag and gently drapes it across you. He straightens your t-shirt and runs his fingers briskly through your hair. He takes a couple of tissues from his desk to gently wipe your face, which makes you blush and snatch them from his hands so you can do it yourself.

He smiles ruefully and turns you around with his arm on your shoulders. With a firm smack on the ass, he whispers in your ear, “Go home now, love.”

You have to fight to keep yourself from running to your car.

* * *

Not twenty minutes later you’re lying sweaty and sated in your bed, gasping for breath, your vibrator still buzzing in your hand. It normally takes a little more to get you off, but after that whole… _Encounter,_ it took about thirty seconds before you were crying out your release, hips jerking and twisting against your own hand.

As you come down from your high, it really starts to occur to you what just happened.

_Holy. Fucking. Shit._

You just starred in a private porno with the hottest dude you’ve ever laid eyes on. You absolutely, one hundred percent went to a teacher to ask for extra credit, and he told you that to earn it you’d have to suck him off.

_Best. Teacher. Ever._

Maybe it’s not the most… Ahem, _orthodox_ method of teaching, but he definitely got through to you, right?

You start to wonder if he really did count that as extra credit when your phone dings like it does when you get an email. You turn your vibrator off and put it next to you on the bed, promising yourself that you’ll get up and clean it as soon as you’re able to string more than two sentences together in your head. You reach over the end of the bed and dig your phone out of your bag, left where you threw it when you came into the room and immediately started flinging your clothes off.

You do, in fact, have an email.

 **From: Dr. Castiel Novak, Ph.D.  
** **Subject: Study Guide**

He sent you the study guide. He really sent you the study guide.

You laugh out loud (possibly a little hysterically) for a long time before getting out of bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kbeautimous)


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Warning for, just, like, a lot of feelings. Also some pretty extreme self-esteem issues.

_ Did it even happen? _

The thought plagues you for the week after your “meeting” with Novak. You  _ think _ it did. You remember his hands in your hair, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the musky, masculine smell of him. You  _ remember _ all of that.

… Right?

A week to the day after the meeting with Novak, you’re sitting in your normal spot in Mythology and World Religion, fidgeting. You have your notebook, which has gotten a lot more use the last few days, open on the table. For once, there are no doodles in the margins. Just neat, meticulously taken notes, highlighted and color-coded.

You’ve learned more in the last week in this class than you have all semester. It all comes down to how fucking  _ embarrassed _ you are.

The way you see it, one of two things happened.

Option one: Nothing at all happened. The whole encounter was a product of your overworked and undersexed mind. Some part of your subconscious is so desperate for him to want you back that it created this elaborate hallucination for you. You never went to his office, he never got you on your knees, you never sucked him off.  _ It never happened. _

If nothing went down (pun intended), though, you’re absolutely convinced that if he looks you in the eye, he’ll see the whole sordid fantasy play out. He’s just gonna  _ know _ all of the perverted details you thought up, all the little things your mind conjured for him, like the dominance or the tattoos. Yeah, just the (admittedly irrational) fear is enough to keep you from looking up at him.

You don’t  _ actually _ think that nothing happened, but it’s kind of hard to completely discredit the idea when Dr. Novak is  _ acting _ like nothing happened. He doesn’t call on you in class, and he hasn’t asked you to stay after. You know he has your student email address, but you haven’t heard a peep from the man.

Option two: you didn’t imagine anything. You can’t honestly say if this is or isn’t more terrifying than you hallucinating giving Novak a blowjob.

Because if everything really did happen, you’re so ashamed of yourself you can barely process the emotions swirling in your chest when you sit in his classroom.  _ Jesus, _ the dude asks you into his office and you just hit your knees like a bitch in heat! Who does that? You practically begged for it, for fuck’s sake. He probably thinks you’re some sort of desperate slut.

_ (He’s not wrong. _

_ Shut up.) _

So, if it  _ did _ happen, you can’t bear to see the condemnation or judgement in those blue eyes. He’s so kind all the time, but surely he has a limit, and you don’t want to see that he’s reached his with you. You  _ can’t. _

Either way, it all adds up to you being an absolutely terrific student this last week. You still don’t participate in class, but you’ve got the study guide he sent you frigging  _ memorized. _ He’s given the class three quizzes in the last week, which is more than usual, but it  _ has _ given you the chance to bring your grade up. It’s not quite where you want it, but it’s getting there.

And, of course, not looking at him means you’re completely unable to be distracted by him. His voice still makes you shiver, but you force yourself to pay attention to what he’s saying. You’ve been absorbing information like crazy, and you’re pleased to find that you  _ are _ actually interested in the subject matter, not just the professor.

He walks into the classroom and your eyes drop down to your paper. As stupid as it is, you  _ miss _ looking at him. You miss the way his eyes light up when a student answers a question correctly. You miss his hands gesturing in the air as he speaks. You miss his wild hair, his perpetual stubble, his broad chest, his secret tattoos.

_ Unless I imagined those. _

_ Fuck. _

* * *

Another week later, you’re walking across campus to the parking lot, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. You didn’t have Dr. Novak’s class today, which means you’re more relaxed than usual. The sun is shining, birds are singing, it’s all very picturesque.

So it makes sense that it takes you a moment to realize that the person walking toward you is not, in fact, some nameless body, but  _ Castiel goddamn Novak. _

The thoughts that come to you in that moment are ridiculous, but rapid-fire and clear as a bell.

_ Ah, fuck. Did I shave my legs? Why did I wear a skirt today, who cares how nice it is? Does my breath smell? Will he even be able to smell my breath? Oh, God, stop being stupid, he doesn’t give a fuck about you.  _ Obviously.  _ Okay, he’s getting close. Just don’t do anything at all. Don’t even acknowledge him. And for fuck’s sake, don’t  _ look _ at him! _

You keep your head held high. As hurt as you are by his total lack of response to what happened between the two of you (because only a small part of you worries that it didn’t actually happen), you do have  _ some _ pride. Not as evidenced by your actions in his office, but you  _ do. _ Sort of.

_ The point is, fuck him. Wait, no. The point is don’t fuck him? Is fucking him even on the table? Because I could be persuaded… _

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you barely notice how close he’s gotten.

Until he speaks.

As he passes you, you see him nod in your peripheral vision. “Y/N,” he says in his sin and chocolate voice.

You have no idea what comes over you when you pitch your own voice low, just for him, and purr, “Professor,” demurely, at the precise moment he’s almost shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

You hear his sharp intake of breath, and the way he stumbles a little bit. You smirk as you keep walking.  _ Take that, Novak. _ As you walk away, you don’t look back. You want to, dear  _ God _ do you want to, but you keep looking forward resolutely.  _ Don’t give him power over you, _ you tell yourself.  _ It’s not worth it, especially if he wants nothing to do with you. _

You smile all the way to your car, feeling better than you have in two weeks.

* * *

The next day, you’ve lost that good feeling.

You slouch in your seat, staring down at your notes and holding your breath as Professor Novak walks around, passing back the test the class took last week. You feel all right about the test itself, but he’s walking between the long tables to hand back the folded papers to each student individually.

It’s just another example of how wonderful he is, really. He’ll write the grades on the front page of the test, fold it,  _ then _ give it back, so none of the marks are easily seen by the people around a student. If someone did particularly poorly, or very well, there’s a note in his spiky, steady handwriting that just says, “Check your email.” That way, any remarks or suggestions he has are also private. It’s incredibly considerate, but that’s what you’ve come to expect from him.

_ Bastard doesn’t even have the decency to be a dick. _

He hands you your test and you murmur a “thank you” as you take it. Your eyes are glued to the table, but you don’t miss the way he hesitates for a few seconds before moving on.  _ Weird. _

You think about just putting the test in your bag and looking at it when you get home. It’s what you normally do, although that might be because you’re usually distracted by your professor.

_ Ha. Fat lot of good that did me. _

After fiddling with the paper for a moment, you roll your eyes at your own indecision and open it to the front page. There, in bold, red letters:

_ A-. Good work. See me in my office after class. _

You can feel your eyes widening as you stare at the neat handwriting in abject horror.

_ Oh, God. Oh, fuck. What does he want with me? Does he want me to drop the class? Does he want me to go remote so he doesn’t have to see me? Does he just want to congratulate me on my grades? Does he want nothing to do with me? Did he write that by mistake? _

_ … Does he want a repeat performance? _

_ No, no! Down, girl! Mind out of gutter! _

Professor Novak has finished handing tests back, and is standing at the front of the class. “Now,” he starts, “I’m very proud of the progress you’ve all made. I know it might not feel like it, but these scores are very impressive. We’re just over halfway through the semester, but I see very bright things in our future.” You’re still looking down at your paper, but you can hear the smile in his voice. “Let’s move on. Now, when we talk about Buddhism, traditionally what we think of…”

And he just… Goes on teaching. Like he isn’t totally fucking with you, like he just asks to see students in his office all the time. Like the last time the two of you were alone in there, he didn’t  _ fuck your mouth. _

_ Of course the sadistic asshole handed grades out at the beginning of class, _ you think viciously, conveniently ignoring that he always hands grades out at the start of class.  _ Probably likes watching me squirm. _

It’s the longest ninety minutes of your life. For the first time in almost a month, you have trouble concentrating in class. You manage to get down a few notes, but you’re grateful that you read ahead to this section. (You’ve been a little…  _ Down _ lately, so you’ve been spending time reading your textbook, pretending Novak was reading it to you. Pathetic, but there you have it.)

Pathetic or not, your recent refusal to do pretty much anything but sulk in your pajamas is paying off. It doesn’t matter that you’re barely focused. Everything Novak says sounds familiar, you’re not lost or confused at all.  _ Thank Christ. _

You white-knuckle it through class, eyes going helplessly back to the folded test you tucked under your notebook every few minutes.  _ Why would he do this to me? _

You vaguely register the way he dismisses the class. You shove your notebook into your bag and hightail it the fuck out of there. As you lose yourself in the crowd of students, a debate starts up in your head.

_ I shouldn’t go. _

_ What if it’s school related? _

_ Honestly, what are the chances of that at this point? _

_ … Okay, fair point. But what if he’s gonna be nice? _

_ He hasn’t even spoken to me in almost three weeks,  _ after _ I gave him a blowjob in his office. If he wanted to reach out, he took a hell of a long time to think it over, _ you remind yourself miserably.

_ What if he wants me? _ a tiny voice in your head whispers.

You frown.  _ Why would he want me? _

Because that’s the six hundred thousand dollar question, isn’t it? It all comes down to why the fuck would  _ he _ want  _ you? _ Castiel Novak, Ph.D is gorgeous, kind, smart, and all around wonderful. He’s probably got women (and men) throwing themselves into his path all the time. Adults with careers and houses and  _ lives _ want him, not to mention students. Surely there are all sorts of  _ students _ propositioning him every day. From people who straight up have a teacher fetish to sweet, mild-mannered girls handing him love letters with trembling fingers, the dude probably barely has a moment to himself.

You’re neither of those things. You like kinky sex (a  _ lot), _ but you would never have initiated anything. And you’re halfway into catching some  _ serious _ feelings, but again, that would have always remained your secret. While you hesitate to use the word “shy” to describe yourself, you just know that what happened in his office happened because  _ he _ took the first step.

_ Okay… So why  _ did _ he take the first step? _

What did he see when he sat you down? Was it spur of the moment? Did you seem vulnerable? You know he didn’t  _ plan _ it, because  _ you _ walked into his office, and you doubt he noticed you at all before that. What made him do that? What about you says, “I like getting put on my knees and having my face fucked?”

More importantly, is that the only reason he did it at all?

_ Of course it is, _ you snarl at yourself as you walk through the halls.  _ He saw an opportunity to get some head and he took it. Don’t put any more into it, don’t assign some stupid fucking meaning to one fucking blowjob. Just be grateful you didn’t embarrass yourself. Jesus. _

The thoughts make you feel exponentially worse, but you think you need to hear them. Especially when you look around and realize that while you were arguing with yourself, your subconscious brought you down the hall with the teachers’ offices.

More precisely, you’re almost right in front of Dr. Novak’s door.

You stare at it for what feels like a long time before turning away.  _ No. _ Whatever he wants, he can say it in an email. You in no way want to look him in his lovely face while he rejects you. You’d probably cry.

_ Just like the stupid, random little girl he thinks you are. Jesus, this is pathetic, it’s no wonder- _

“Y/N?”

His voice stops you dead in your tracks. You close your eyes in defeat as you slowly turn to face him. The universe is determined to see you humiliated in front of this perfection made flesh, and you know when you’re outmanned. So you smile faintly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were in there.”

He tilts his head to the side, studying your face intently. Finally, “Well, come in, won’t you?”

_ Polite motherfucker. _ “Of course.”

You follow him in with a surreal sort of mindset. Your inner voices have quieted. Everything in you is trying to shore up your defenses, so when he politely asks you to leave his class, you don’t burst into heartbroken tears.

“Take a seat, Y/N.”

You obey woodenly, lying your bag on the floor again. You’re wearing a skirt again today in an attempt to battle your dark mood. So you sit primly, your knees together.

To your surprise (dismay), he doesn’t sit in his office chair. In an unbearable echo of the last time you were in this office, he stands in front of you and leans against his desk, his arms crossed across his chest.

You manage to tear your eyes away from his body to meet his gaze. Concern shines on his face. “Y/N,” he says softly, “are you… Okay?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

He sighs and raises a hand to swipe it down his face. It’s the first crack you see in ihs armor. Under the kind, attentive professor, and even under the controlling, dominant lover, he’s  _ worried. _

_ Worried about what? _

He heaves a sigh. “I’m going about this poorly.”

“Going about  _ what _ poorly?”

He leans forward a bit, earnestness written in every line of his body. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right.”

You’re starting to freak out for real about how fucking cryptic he’s being. “What are you  _ talking _ about?”

“After we saw one another last… In this office.”

You  _ ruthlessly _ crush the little thrill that his words awaken, because  _ now is not the time. _ “Why…” You swallow hard. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You’ve seemed a bit… Affected.”

That throws you for a loop. “Huh?”  _ Very intelligent. Well done. _

“I… I fear that I have not been responsible in our relations.”

For some reason, that’s what does it.

You start with a snort, then giggling, and before you can even try to stop yourself, you’re full-on laughing your ass off. Your stomach starts to ache, and it gets hard to breathe. You feel tears gather in your eyes as you laugh loud and hard.

Novak is looking more and more alarmed. “Y/N?”

“Re… Re…  _ Responsible?” _ you stutter out between gulps of air and giggles. “You haven’t been  _ responsible? _ Dude, I don’t know how many times you’ve done something like this, but I think we were about as  _ responsible _ as we could have been.”

He frowns. “‘How many times?’”

You roll your eyes. Somehow, laughing until you cried got rid of your fear, at least for now. “Have you  _ seen _ yourself? I… I know that I’m not the first.” Ah,  _ there’s _ your stupid squishy feelings. “And that’s fine. I just don’t understand what you’re doing right now. Like, I’m not… I just don’t get it? Like, do you do this with all of us?”

“Y/N, I-”

But you’re on a roll, and you’re not willing to let him interrupt you. “And, okay, so I was a little  _ down, _ but I think I’m probably not your usual… Uh, partner, I guess? So, like, I didn’t  _ expect _ anything  _ more _ from you, and I get that this was a casual hookup, or whatever, and that I-”

You’re listening to yourself in growing horror, but you’re completely unable to shut the fuck up.

“-am probably being  _ super _ crazy right now, and I know that, because I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this. It’s just that it’s  _ my _ first time, not having  _ sex, _ obviously, but having done this with a professor, and I don’t want to-”

You’re cut off by a gentle hand cupping your face. You were so involved in your ramblings you didn’t realize he’d stood up and came toward you. There are mere inches separating the two of you now. You can smell his cologne.

_ Dammit, he smells good. _

His eyes are shining at you, drowning you in blue and warmth. “Y/N,” he says gently, running his thumb along your cheekbone, “this is the first time I’ve approached a student about anything but an academic relationship, I assure you.” His long fingers are curved along the column of your neck, cradling you. “You are, indeed, quite special, love.”

You blink up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly young, incredibly vulnerable. “Really? You’ve never…”

He shakes his head. “No, never. You are…” He sighs, smiling ruefully. “I noticed you immediately, and you were so… Endearingly  _ shy, _ I couldn’t help but be drawn to you.”

You feel your brow furrow even as you lean into his touch. “But you-”

“Didn’t mention it, or ‘make a move,’ as it were. No, I didn’t. There’s just… Y/N, this is quite unusual for me. I’ve always been able to control myself around students.”

You smile a little. “I just brought it out in you, huh?”

“Indeed,” he hums. His hand slides back to start running through your hair, which is comforting as all hell. You realize belatedly that he’s crouching in front of the chair you’re sitting in, putting the two of you on the same level. His other hand is big and warm on your knee. “Initially, I didn’t act because I wasn’t certain that you were interested.” At your disbelieving snort, he smiles wide enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle, which kills you. “Yes, it seems a bit silly now, but I wanted to be sure. And then I…” He sighs again. “There’s an obvious power imbalance here, Y/N. I didn’t want to make you think that the only way you’d pass my class was if you accepted my advances.”

“I never thought that,” you protest. “When we were here last time, you gave me plenty of time to back out.”

He nods reluctantly. “That I did, but I worried nonetheless that you’d felt pressured. It’s why I haven’t reached out to you again, despite how much I wanted to. I was so concerned, and every day I spent not talking to you about it made me feel more guilty about not clearing the air. I just… Couldn’t get up the courage to address it.”

The thought that this man would need to gather courage to himself to talk to you boggles your mind. “This doesn’t make sense to me,” you confess softly.

He frowns. “What doesn’t?” His fingers are still gentle in your hair.

“That you’d be nervous to talk to me, or that you’d want to talk to me at all, I guess. I don’t understand why you’d notice me.”

He frowns. “Y/N, do you not…” He sighs. “You don’t see what I see when I look at you, I suspect.” When you shake your head, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, which sends tingles down your spine. “I shall endeavor to make it more obvious,” he vows.

You feel your cheeks heat in a blush, and that’s just about your limit for sweet moments. You like affection as much as the next girl, but this whole thing is giving you emotional whiplash, and it’s getting hard for you to deal with. You know you have to clear a few more things up, but really only one thing stands out in your mind as urgent enough that it can’t be put off.

“So you… Uh, want to do this? More? Again?” you ask, once again feeling the age difference pretty keenly.

There’s a glint in his eye when he answers. “Y/N, I want to do it as often, and in as many places, as you’ll grant permission for.”

The words send warmth down your body, making your fingers tingle with the need to touch him, but you’re still a little shaky, in need of reassurance. “Can you…” You swallow hard, because vulnerability is not your strong suit, but you need to know if he’s serious. “Can you kiss me?”

He doesn’t say anything at all, just leans forward to gently press his mouth against yours. His lips are soft, if a little chapped. He tastes like mint gum, which you know he chews before coming to class. He’s kissing you softly, hesitantly, and you revel in the feeling of being treasured for a moment before you start to need more.

You finally bring your hands up to curl around the back of his neck, holding him to you. You open for him without being asked, and the deep, rumbling groan from his chest makes you gasp into his mouth as he starts to explore you with his tongue.

_ Jesus. _ You aren’t surprised that the man can kiss, but it’s overwhelming, the way he takes control, his fingers tightening in your hair and on your leg, the way his stubble scrapes against your face, the way he forces your head to tilt back just a little, giving him the position of power.

It’s so fucking hot.

He pulls away from your mouth, which gives you free reign to pant and whimper as he kisses and nips his way up your jaw until his lips are brushing your ear as he speaks.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’ve been doing better, Y/N,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear.

You shudder and bite back a whimper. You’re so fucking ready for whatever he wants to do to you,  _ with _ you. Especially now that you know that he wants to continue doing this, that you’re the only one he’s doing with this with. “Thank you, Professor.”

He growls a little when the title slips from your lips. He presses his mouth against the spot just below your ear and sucks, marking you, making you bite your own lip to stifle a moan. He comes back up to whisper in your ear, his voice somehow rough with lust, smug as hell, and seductive all at the same time.

“Don’t you think that deserves a reward?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kbeautimous)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles evilly*

“Don’t you think that deserves a reward?”

You shudder at the feeling of his breath on your ear. He’s  _ radiating _ heat, and when coupled with his whiskey voice, it’s almost overwhelming. You want to bury yourself in him and stay forever.

“Whatever you think, Professor,” you demure.

His cheek brushes yours, and you just know he’s smiling wickedly. “So good for me.”

He stands, every move languid and smooth. Now that you have a better idea of what he’s hiding beneath well-cut suits, you can see the obvious signs of someone who’s muscular, strong.

He holds a hand out to help you stand. Obviously, you don’t  _ actually _ need help from a chair, but the game is on now and you can feel yourself slipping into the right mindset already. You put your hand in his and let him pull you to your feet.

He guides you to lean back against the edge of his desk. “Hop up, love,” he purrs, hands at your waist.

You obey easily, jumping a little so you’re sitting on the edge of his desk. He shifts you back further, until you’re not so precariously balanced. You find yourself automatically spreading your legs to accommodate him. From the feral way he grins, he notices, too.

As he wraps his hands around your legs, his long fingers coming to rest at the backs of your knees, your own hands land naturally on his hips. You nuzzle his jaw wantonly, relishing the burn of his stubble against your softer skin.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he murmurs.

“Anything.” Your response is instant and shameless. “Anything, Professor.”

He growls and you feel it everywhere. He leans back to look at you and your knees tighten at his hips, protesting him moving away.

He chuckles “Shh, love. So good, so good for me.” He’s whispering now, and you’re so caught up in his spell.

He uses his hold on your legs to tug you forward sharply. You gasp when the move pushes your thighs open wider and your core presses against his denim-covered cock, which is rapidly swelling.

“Anything, hmm?” he murmurs, his eyes roaming hungrily over your face. You nod helplessly.

He lifts one hand to wrap around the back of your neck, long fingers tangling in your hair. He uses that grip to tilt your head back, putting you in the perfect position to kiss the hell out of you again.

You moan as soon as his lips touch yours and he swallows it eagerly. He kisses you fiercely, demanding everything from you. You give as good as you’re getting, opening for him before he can ask. You suck his tongue into your mouth gently. His resulting groan is more like a growl against your lips.

The hand tangled in your hair tilts your head to the side. Ignoring the protesting whine that’s involuntarily pulled from you, he moves away from your mouth to press a trail of burning kisses along your jaw. As much as you want his mouth back on yours (a lot, you want that a lot), his five o’clock shadow is scraping pleasantly against you, so you manage to find it within yourself to not complain.

He gets to the flesh just below your ear and stays there, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that leave you panting.

“Marks?” he rasps against your skin. It honestly takes you a second to parse out that he’s asking you a question.

When you do realize it, though, it’s like a revelation.  _ “Yes.” _

You feel his smirk pressed against you. “Yes, what?”

Your own voice is scathing as you bite out, “Yes,  _ Professor.” _

The only acknowledgement he gives is to sink his teeth into your neck and suck. You make a noise like you’re dying and your fingers grip him hard, sure to leave marks of your own behind.

When he finally pulls away, the spot is throbbing and achey in the best way. It’s making it hard to breathe. He cups your chin and tilts your head so he can admire his handiwork. You whimper a little, squeezing him with your legs in desperation. He chuckles.

“Eager,” he murmurs, but he acquiesces to your silent demands. He captures your lips with his again, kissing you harshly. The way his big, warm hands cradle your face is in delightful contrast to his delightful dominance before he slowly slides them down to settle on your shoulders.

The sundress you’re wearing has buttons down the entire front. That’s where his hands move down to. He starts to undo said buttons quickly, making you breathless and shuddery.

A thought occurs to you. “D-door?” you manage to stutter out.

“Locked.” His eyes are intent on the flesh he’s exposing more and more of.

You blink. “Really?”

He looks up at you, his hands pausing in their ministrations. He gives you a small, genuine smile. “I had some hopes as to how this conversation might go. I set the door to automatically lock upon closing after you were last here.

_ He had a lot of hopes. God help me. _ You take a deep breath. “Professor?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

_ “Fuck me.” _

He stops, and before you can worry that you’ve messed up, an iron hand grips your chin and forces you to look into his eyes.

“No,” he says simply, voice drenched in authority. “The first time I fuck you, it will not be a quickie in my office, where I won’t be able to let you make all the noises you want.” You whimper and he smirks. “The first time I fuck you, little girl, I intend to take my time, and that requires privacy and a bed.” He seems to consider.  _ “My _ bed.”

_ First time. _ He said first time. You know that the two of you  _ just _ discussed this, but the words “first time” still managed to leave you a little dazed. And thrilled. Dazed and abso-fucking-lutely  _ thrilled. _

“Oh, God,” you moan.

“Is that agreeable?” His voice is light, teasing. The bastard knows how  _ agreeable _ you find him.

You tilt your face down and look up at him in faux shyness through your eyelashes. “Yes, Professor, anything you want.”

His blue eyes darken in desire, and he makes another one of those growly noises that makes you tremble. “You’ll be the death of me.”

You smile sweetly. “Surely not  _ me, _ Professor.”

He goes back to unbuttoning your dress. “Sassy, aren’t you?” he asks, making quick work of his task.

“Only for you,” you murmur.

Once he’s bared you down to the middle of your belly, he stops to just stare at you for a moment. You’re not the most confident about the view he has, but you try to keep the fact that he’s into you at the forefront of your mind and not squirm.

He runs one finger  _ agonizingly  _ slow from your shoulder, gently tracing the strap of your bra. He gives the cup the same treatment, and his heated gaze follows the path. He  _ must _ see the way your skin erupts in goosebumps in the wake of his touch.

“Lovely,” he says softly, his eyes not leaving where he’s touching you. “Just lovely.”

You swallow your deflections and protestations, because you know the game. No matter how badly you don’t want to, you give him a shaky, “Thank you, Professor.”

His eyes dart up to yours, assessing. “Hm, you didn’t like that.” You open your mouth to splutter out some excuse, but he shakes his head. “It’s all right, love. That’s not what today is for.”

You blink. “What is today for, then?”

There’s a playful, dangerous glint in his eyes now. He leans forward to press an almost chaste kiss to the place where your neck and shoulder meet. “Today,” he whispers against your skin, “is for making everything up to you.”

You frown and try to fight through the haze his touch leaves you in. “You don’t have to-”

His left hand at some point drifted to cradle your right shoulder. Now his fingers tighten there, not enough to hurt, but enough to get your attention.

He’s leaving a trail of scorching kisses down to your shoulder at the same time that he gently guides your sleeves down your arms, baring you to the room. He doesn’t stop doing either of these things when he speaks.

“What I have to do isn’t really up for you to decide, is it?”

You shudder at the dark possessiveness in his words. “No, Professor.”

“Hmm, good. And whose decision  _ is _ it, little girl, whether or not I need to earn your forgiveness?”

“Yours, Professor.”

“Good girl.” At the whimper you let out, he chuckles. “So responsive.” He finally leans back again to look you in the eye. He cocks an eyebrow and it almost kills you. “Any more concerns I should know about?” When you shake your head, he smiles. “Good. Now, I’d like to remove your bra. Do I have your permission to do so?”

You nod, hopelessly lost in the headspace he’s taken you to.

He gently wraps his left hand around the back of your neck and pulls you close to kiss you again. His other hand snakes around behind you, and (rather skillfully) undoes the clasp on your bra. He guides the straps over your shoulders, then helps you pull your arms free of both dress and bra. He places the latter aside, always leaving one warm, comforting hand on you.

Finally, he looks at you again. “Lay back,” he says, even as he uses his hands on your hips to guide you to lay on your back.

Luckily, the only thing he normally has on his desk is his laptop. He must have been expecting you, because there’s no sign of it right now.

Once you’re settled, he makes quick work of taking his suit jacket off, reminiscent of your first illicit meeting here. Just like he did then, he folds it, then places it beneath your head.

With that done, he ends up hovering over you, hot gaze drinking you in. You open your mouth (probably to ruin the moment), but you’re interrupted when he bows his head to leave a harsh, sudden bite on your collarbone.

Your back bows.  _ “Fuck.” _

His lips stretch into a smirk, but he doesn’t say anything. He releases you, then soothes the bite with soft, gentle kisses. You absolutely  _ cannot _ control your breathing, and you can feel your hips bucking restlessly.

You lose time to the way he’s worshipping you with his mouth. He alternates between firm bites and gentle kisses, and the marks he’s leaving behind delight you. You’re lost to him.

When he finally,  _ finally _ runs his tongue over one of your nipples, you cry out and writhe against him. He has you well and truly pinned, though, and he keeps you exactly where he wants you as he sucks your nipple into his mouth and flicks it mercilessly with his tongue. He circles your other nipple with a clever finger, before he starts to pluck and twist it, sending arching heat shooting down your spine.

Then he switches his mouth to the breast his hand is at, and starts all over on the other side.

_ “Please,” _ you gasp.

You have no idea how long he spends driving you insane, marking you up and making you twist and beg. It’s good, so good, just on the right side of pain and forcefulness. The man knows what he’s doing, and you’re happy to benefit from the expertise.

After what seems like years, he pulls off of your nipple with a loud  _ pop _ sound and starts to kiss down your chest. He gets to the top of your belly before you’re with it enough to wonder what’s going on, and then he’s dropping to his knees between your spread thighs, his face level with your panty-covered, soaking wet pussy.

He runs gentle fingers from the insides of your knees up to where your thighs meet your groin. You just moan and buck up into his hold, too mindless to do much of anything more right now. His deep chuckle makes your eyes roll back up in your head a little bit, and when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, pushing your skirt up to your waist in the process, you just take a moment to thank whatever powers that be that it seems like he’s done teasing.

He pulls your underwear down your legs briskly, taking them off and doing God knows what with them. Then he kisses his way up your leg, ignoring the way you spread them further in silent pleading. When he gets to the very top of your thigh, he sinks his teeth into your flesh again, sucking hard and making you moan and twitch. The pain is so  _ good, _ aching and bright against the pleasure that’s thrumming through you.

When his hot breath ghosts over your core, you realize how wet you really are. You can feel it soaking the insides of the very top of your thighs, running down your ass. You’re swollen and needy, so sensitive that even his breath has you biting your lip to try to anchor yourself.

“Please,” you whisper. “Professor,  _ please.” _

“Please what, little girl?”

Your own breath is ragged, and your hands are fisted at your sides (he hasn’t told you that you can’t move, but he also hasn’t told you that you  _ can). _ You feel like you’re spinning apart, unravelling at the seams.

You don’t realize that you haven’t answered until his big, warm hands wrap around the backs of your calves. His thumbs rub comforting circles into the outsides of your knees, and the gentle movements bring you down, back to just a little bit of coherency.

“What do you want, little girl?” he asks, voice soft.

You’re still looking up at the ceiling, because you’re certain that seeing him kneel between your legs would kill you dead. “Touch me,” you whimper.  _ “Please.” _

He doesn’t scold you for the slip-up, thank God. He doesn’t hesitate at all, actually. He slides his hands up your thighs, pushing them farther apart. Before you can even gasp, his mouth is on you.

Your breath stops completely as he uses his  _ ridiculous _ tongue to explore you. He leisurely uses one of his hands to hold your lips open so he can leave little kitten licks right at your opening, tormenting you with the  _ idea _ of him sinking into you.

You realize dimly that you’re rocking up into his mouth, and that he’s letting you. You’re mindlessly shifting, moving, unable to keep still. His tongue is sending bolts of pleasure through your whole body, letting heat consume you.

You’re so wrapped up in what he’s already doing to you that you hardly notice him shifting around. Until, of course, you feel one of his long fingers start to sink into you. You moan and arch into it, forcing him in deeper.

He chuckles at your impatience, sending vibrations right up into you. It’s like someone has gripped the base of your spine, making you cry out and writhe beneath him. You’re not surprised when your hands fly up to bury themselves in his hair, which is just as thick and soft as you’ve always thought it might be. You’re entirely helpless to stop yourself from tugging him closer, holding him against you. He just lets you, then uses his new position to pull your clit into his mouth and suckle lightly.

Pleasure is starting to white out your vision, and the broken moans and whimpers falling from your lips are getting louder and louder. He sinks another finger into you, then crooks both of them, hitting that bundle of nerves that makes you cry out and your legs tremble.

Your orgasm is building inside you, huge and amazing and spiralling heat that burns you and leaves you wanting more. You realize here, on the precipice, that you  _ need _ to see him like this.

You lift your head and open your eyes, only to lock gazes with him. His blue eyes are blazing up at you, not looking away as he eats you out like he’s starving. His hair is  _ actually _ sex-mussed, sticking up in all directions from your fingers. There’s a truly lovely flush high on his cheeks, as much as you can see between your spread legs, anyway.

It’s that thought, along with the burning gaze that’s glued to you, that sends you hurtling into orgasm.

You must black out for a few minutes. One of your hands has come up and covered your mouth, because you’ve already been too loud, but that’s the only real thought in your head. The rest of you is occupied with the pleasure coursing through your body, sending your back arching and making your legs spasm. Choruses of angels sing, birds chirp, the world is spinning sedately on a slightly better axis than it was before you came (heh) into this room.

He gently licks you through it, soft enough to avoid overstimulation. You’re still shuddering and twitching as you slowly come down, soothed by his constant touch.

When you find the wherewithal to open your eyes again, you realize that he’s moved so he’s leaning over you, weight braced on his elbows on either side of your head. You give him a lazy, kind of dazed smile.

“Hiya.”

He smirks. “Hello, Y/N.”

You smile wider. “Oh, I’m sorry, hiya,  _ Professor.” _

His eyes darken, but he just keeps looking down at you. “I think it’s more appropriate that you call me Cas, don’t you?”

You wrap one of your legs up around his waist, shivering at the feeling of his hard cock pressed against you. “Well,  _ Cas,” _ you purr, “I can help with this.”

He kisses your forehead firmly. “As tempting as that offer is, and it  _ is _ tempting, I think we’ve done enough for today.”

“But what about you?”

Another kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be fine.” He looks into your eyes again. “Are  _ you _ all right, love?”

You can’t help the unattractive snort that comes out of you. “Uh,  _ yeah, _ I’m fine.”

A genuine, happy smile appears on his face. “Good.”

You chew on your lip a little. You’re not really  _ nervous, _ not after that (after he went down on you like he’s been dreaming of doing it for years, god _ damn), _ you’re just… Unsure.

“So, uh… What now?”

He blinks. “Well, as for right this moment, I really should clean you up and make sure you get home safely. As for the future…” Now  _ he _ looks nervous, which your orgasm-fried brain must be imagining. “I was wondering if you’d like to accompany me to dinner? Maybe on Friday?”

The absurdity of the moment really sinks in for you just then. This absolute god of a man, who is handsome and kind and smart, is asking you out before he’s even wiped any of your juices off of his lovely face.

You make sure to say “yes” before giving into the giggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running.  
> \- Come see me on [tumblr!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kbeautimous)  
> \- Tell me what you thoughttttt. It's been a while since I wrote this kind of in depth, detailed smutty smut smut.


	4. Chapter Four

As you look at yourself in the mirror, you try to tell yourself that you’re not nervous.

_ Why would you be nervous? It’s not like the loveliest human being you’ve ever seen in real life met you in his office, came down your throat, then two weeks later asked you out on a normal date after he rocked your world with nothing more than, like, his tongue and twenty free minutes. _

_ It’s not like you’re terrified that this is going to crash and burn. Like, maybe when you get to dinner, he’s going to realize that you’re dull as dirt, and you’re an absolute mess, and he really only wants you for sex. It’s not like that would kinda kill you or anything. _

_ That would be crazy. _

_ … Okay, it’s possible that I’m a  _ little _ nervous. _

You wonder for the fiftieth time in thirty minutes if you should change into something different. Cass  _ (oh my god he told me to call him Cass) _ told you that the restaurant he wants to take you to is casual, so you’ve got on a kind of flowy top, a tight pair of jeans, and sneakers. If he shows up in a goddamn three-piece suit, you’re going to die.

You’re nitpicking at your makeup again when there’s a knock on the door and you feel your heart drop into your shoes.

_ Shit. _

_ I mean, at least he actually came to pick you up, right? It’s not some sort of elaborate, strange prank? _

_ Okay, sure, but that  _ does _ mean I have to actually  _ go _ on a date with him now, which is gonna make me throw up. _

You take a deep, steadying breath, that under no circumstances works to calm your nerves, and walk out to answer the stupid door, so the stupid, perfect professor who seems to want you can take you out on a stupid date.

You pull the door open and your breath quite promptly abandons you. The nerves about how you look are forgotten in favor of how  _ good _ Novak looks. He’s not wearing anything spectacular, really. The suit has been replaced with dark wash jeans, another white button-up, and a black blazer. He’s wearing sneakers, and his hair is still the just-fucked mess it always is.

_ Hail Mary, full of grace, I’m gonna die. _

He smiles warmly. “Hello, Y/N.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you can feel sweat start to gather at your lower back, but you can’t help the way your own lips curve up into a smile.

“Hi, Cass.”

* * *

You should have expected this to happen, honestly.

_ Bastard. _

Because it’s not just some rando you’re dealing with here, it’s  _ Professor Castiel J. Novak, Ph.D. _

He takes you to what kind of looks like a dive bar called The Roadhouse. The kind of place you’d be hesitant to go into on your own, but you’d be willing to bet money on the food being fucking amazing.

It’s a bet you would win.

Ellen runs a tight ship, so even though it kinda looks like a dump, the inside is spotless, if a little worn. The service is quick and friendly, with Jo making you both laugh several times. The cook, Ash, is a mastermind, and you don’t think you’ve ever had French fries this amazing in your life. You’d be willing to do terrible, terrible things for these French fries, and you earnestly tell Ash as much.

He grins and winks. “What  _ kind _ of terrible things?”

Cas’ hand reaches across the table to twine your fingers together possessively. “I think I’ll take care of any terrible things the lady wants to do tonight,” he says darkly. It makes you feel twisty and warm inside, the way his blue eyes rake over you, total alpha male nonsense, but a turn-on nonetheless.

Ash chuckles and holds his hands up in surrender as he walks away.

The rest of dinner goes smoothly. It’s not that he makes you  _ forget _ to be self-conscious, necessarily, because there’s nothing that can do that. His company, though, makes it easier to push those thoughts to the back of our mind. You’d much rather be paying attention to him than focusing on how nervous all of this is making you.

You barely notice the passing of time until you look around and the bar is almost completely empty. The staff isn’t giving any of you the stink eye yet, but when you look over to meet Cas’ eyes again  _ (blue blue blue), _ it’s clear that he lost track of time, too.

“We should probably consider drawing our evening here to a close,” he rumbles, eyes glued to you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Disappointment colors your heart, but you really  _ did _ have an incredible time, so you smile. “I think you’re right.”

When you object to him paying for dinner, he insists that this is all part of making the last several weeks up to you and won’t take no for an answer. You compromise that you’ll pay for the next date, and the kiss he presses to your cheek makes you blush fiercely.

On the way back to his car, he takes your hand in an easy way that makes it hard for you to breathe.  _ Everything _ tonight has been easy in a way that it usually isn’t for you. He’s been sweet and attentive and warm and it makes you anxious and want more of it all at the same time.

_ Something’s gotta give. _

“I had a really good time tonight,” you say softly as the two of you make your way to his car. You wince as soon as the words are out of your mouth.  _ God, could you be more cliche? _

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice. He just smiles and brings your twined hands up so he can kiss your knuckles gently. “As did I, love.”

He opens the passenger door for you, a gentleman like he has been all evening. As you settle in and buckle your seatbelt, you wish for a moment that he wasn’t taking you home  _ quite _ so soon, but you get it. Maybe he wants to take it slow, backtrack a little since the two of you moved so very quickly at the beginning. Maybe he’s tired, it  _ is _ Friday, and he teaches a full load of classes.

_ Maybe spending some one-on-one time with you has made him  _ want _ to end the night early, _ that familiar, nasty voice whispers to you.  _ Maybe it took just a few hours for him to realize that he wants nothing to do with you outside of the bedroom. _

Most of you is hurt by the thought, but there is a part of you that’s all right with taking whatever you can get from the handsome man next to you.

“You’re thinking terribly hard over there.” The rough timbre of his voice washes over you, soothing and gravelly. “I must have done an unsatisfying job of distracting you this evening.”

The fact that he already knows you need to be pulled from your own thoughts gives you some courage. You smile, knowing it’s a little strained and not being able to do a damn thing about it. “I guess I just wish the night wasn’t over.”

There’s a beat of silence, then, with just enough incredulity that you believe him, “What on earth have I done to give you the impression that I’m finished with you?”

“Um… Well… You said ‘draw this evening to a close,’ and I guess I thought-”

“Ah,” he cuts you off. “I see. I must not have been clear, I apologize.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to-”

“Y/N, as much as I enjoyed dinner with you, and I very much did, now I would like to take you home with me and fuck you senseless.” He take his eyes off the road for just a moment to send you an absolutely scorching look. “If you’re amenable to that, of course.”

You’re absolutely speechless. Probably because you’re suddenly so painfully aroused that it’s hard to think of things like words and what order they traditionally go in.

You let your eyes fall closed and you shudder. “Yes, Professor.”

“Good girl.”

* * *

You gasp as he pushes you backwards onto the bed so you bounce a little. He looks downright  _ sinful. _ His blue eyes are glittering in the low light provided by the moon. His hair is a fucking wreck  _ (because of me, _ you think smugly). You even managed to get two of his top buttons undone before he manhandled you out of his front hall, through his house  _ (“Don’t I get a tour, Professor?” “Later,” he growled.) _ and into his bedroom.

Your hands fall to the hem of your top, eager to feel his skin against yours. Before you can do much more than grasp it, however, his hands cover yours, stilling their movement.

_ “I _ will be undressing you,” he says darkly. The possessiveness in his voice, along with the soft promise of retribution if he’s disobeyed, makes anticipation curl deliciously down your spine.

You smirk at him. “Yes, sir.”

He wraps his long fingers around your wrists and moves you until your hands are flat on the bed on either side of your head. He tightens his grip once, briefly, staring into your eyes to get his message across. “Your hands will not move  _ at all _ unless I move them myself. Do you understand?”

You nod breathlessly. At his arched brow, “Yes, Professor.”

He examines you again for a long moment before nodding and releasing your wrists. Slowly, predatorily, he moves back down your body until his face is hovering just below your belly, his eyes never leaving yours.

He takes the hem of your blouse in one hand and gently starts to pull it up. He presses soft kisses to every inch of your belly he exposes. It makes you want to squirm away, but you manage to keep still under his stern but affectionate gaze.

When he gets to your bra, he traces the outline of the underwire with his tongue, leaving cool trails that make you shiver. You feel him smile against your skin. He shifts until he’s sitting up and straddling you, his weight resting on your thighs. With gentle but insistent hands, he urges you up so he can tug your blouse over your head.

Again, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you when he tosses your shirt to the side. You blush and try to think of something to say as he stares hungrily down at you.

He seems to come out of the sort of trance he put himself into with a blink. He places reverent hands at your waist and slowly skates them up your sides. It makes your breath go unsteady and shuddery.

“Just lovely,” he says softly as he shifts down again.

When he gets to the waistband of your jeans, he places a tender kiss on your hip. It begins the path he lays into your skin. Alternating between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, chaste little pecks, and gentle nips of his teeth, he makes his way slowly back up your belly.

Your chest is heaving with labored breathing when he gets back up to your collarbone. He hums in appreciation before biting down fiercely and sucking  _ hard. _ You cry out and arch your back into the pain. You’re writhing beneath him as he releases you, but your wrists stay where he put them.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he soothes the big, dark mark he’s left. “Just beautiful, you’re being so good for me.”

You barely get a chance to acknowledge him before he’s urging you to arch again so he can deftly unclasp your bra, then slide it down your arms with feather-light touches. He tosses the garment the same way he did your shirt.

_ Going to have a hell of a time finding my clothes in the morning. _

_ If he even lets you stay until morning. _

_ … Ah. _

He presses a gentle kiss to the valley between your breasts, bringing you back to the present. His hands come back to gently knead your breasts. It makes you whimper and arch.

“So responsive, just for me.” There’s a lovely sort of reverence in his deep voice.

“Just for you,” you whisper.

He smiles wickedly, possessiveness and warmth flaring in those blue eyes, before he dips his head down to flick one erect nipple with his talented tongue. The sensation seems to shoot from his mouth straight down to your core, making you whimper and struggle to keep still. You realize you’re starting to get wet in your panties.

He sucks once, hard, before releasing the tight bud and moving to give your other nipple the same treatment. The urge to sink your fingers into his hair is almost overwhelming, but you stay where you are.

Unlike the last time he had you at the mercy of his mouth, he doesn’t seem bent on torturing you. He’s certainly not  _ neglecting _ any part of you, but he’s not wasting any time, either. You’re barely keeping up.

Almost before you realize it, he’s undoing the fastening of your jeans. He hooks his long fingers into the waistband and pulls them down, taking your panties, too. He easily tugs your flats off along with the rest and does heaven knows what with the whole lot. On his way back up, starting with your ankles, he presses chaste kisses to your legs as he makes his way to kiss you.

He captures your lips in a fierce but almost sweet kiss. You moan into his mouth, lost in the feel of his clothing brushing against your bared skin.

While there’s something undeniably hot about him being completely dressed while you’re naked already, it also leaves you on the not-fun side of feeling vulnerable.

You must tense up, or give some sort of sign, because he leans back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong love?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly. Maybe too quickly, because he just arches an eyebrow and waits you out.

You drop your eyes to the collar of his shirt. “I, um, just…” Your voice goes down to a whisper. “Um, could you maybe get undressed, too? Please? Professor?”

A gentle finger tips your chin up until you’re forced to look him in the eye again. His gaze is warm and fond. It makes you relax a little bit.

“Of course I can,” he says gently. “Please don’t hesitate to ask me for what you need, Y/N. I want you to be open and honest with me, all right?” He waits until you give him a tiny nod before he presses a firm kiss to your forehead and gets off of you to crawl back so he can stand.

You lean up onto your elbows to watch with ill-concealed delight. He cocks an eyebrow at the stretching of the rules, but you’re all right with it. The object of your fantasies is  _ finally _ about to be bared to you and you intend to enjoy every nanosecond of it.

He unbuttons the cuffs of his shirt with a smirk on his face.  _ Dick, _ you think fondly as he moves his hands up to his throat. He slowly slides each button from its hole, putting on a show, revealing his delightful chest a bit at a time.

And dear  _ Christ, _ what a chest.

There are bright colors in abstract designs starting at just below his collarbone and dancing down his pecs and abs. He’s fit, all firm muscle and lean lines. It makes you want to sink your teeth into any part of him you can get to.

When he slowly,  _ deliberately _ turns to toss his shirt the way of your clothes, you honest to god gasp.

Starting between his shoulder blades, depicted with  _ stunning _ detail, are huge black wings. They wrap around his shoulders and down his arms. They cover his back, the longest feathers dipping down below the waistband of his jeans. As he turns back to face you again, you see that the tattoos that so enchanted you the first time are the ends of these wings, the very tips fading to a dark blue at the ends.

“Sweet Jesus,” you say faintly. “You’re  _ gorgeous.” _

His smile is radiant. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he replies as he pulls his belt from his jeans.

He makes quick work of ridding himself of the rest of his clothes until he’s standing in front of you at the end of the bed, gloriously naked. While you’re greedily ogling him, he fishes a condom out of the nightstand next to the bed.

He tosses the foil packet so it lands on the pillow next to you and starts to crawl over you, his body cat-like with slinky grace, until he’s hovering over you on all fours.

“The next time we do this,” he murmurs, his rough voice skittering along your rapidly fraying nerves, “I’m going to tie you up and fuck you every single way you’ve ever dreamed about.”

You can only whimper in response.

One hand cups your face, grounding you. It keeps you from breaking into a thousand tiny pieces here in front of him. “Not tonight, love,” he soothes. “Tonight, we’ll be just like this. Just you and I.” When you cock an eyebrow at your wrists, which are back to where he’d placed them, he chuckles.

“Can you blame me for desiring unfettered access to your body, love?”

You roll your eyes. “While I’m laying here, being good, still not allowed to touch?  _ Yes, _ I blame you.”

His face lights up. “You’re more than welcome to touch me now, love.”

That’s all the encouragement you needed.

You reach one hand up to twine itself into his thick, dark hair, and you use it to pull him down into a kiss. He goes willingly, resettling himself so that his weight is braced on his forearms and the rest of his body is laid out on top of you between your spread legs. It’s kind of a sensory overload.

His hard chest presses into the soft flesh of your breasts, forcing you to reshape yourself around him. His  _ insane _ hip bones are pressed into you, a sort of dull pain that keeps you present. His lightly haired legs against your smooth ones, which are tucked around his, your heels digging into his calves. His lips are amazing against yours, his skilled mouth making it easier and easier to lose yourself in him.

The most distracting, of course, is the way his hard length is pressed along your wet, hot core. You honestly can’t help the way your hips are rocking up onto him, coating his cock in your slick, making him shudder and press down into you.

“You’re incorrigible,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“Yes,” you agree simply. “Fuck me.”

He turns so he’s nuzzling your jaw just beneath your ear. With the hand that’s not in his hair, you rake your nails lightly down his back, savoring the way his muscles ripple and move beneath your fingers. The way he groans into your ear makes you shiver.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he muses.

You’re beyond denying how much you want this man, so you tighten your thighs around his hips and your fingers in his hair.  _ “Yes.” _

He leans back again to look you in the eye seriously. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“… Ready, like, emotionally? You know I’m not a virgin, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m well aware, thank you. I meant are you wet enough?”

_ Leave it to Novak to ask a dirty question like a business transaction and somehow make it even filthier, _ you think, a little dazed. “Yes, I’m wet enough,  _ Professor.” _

He growls and grinds down against you, making you gasp and writhe. “Maybe  _ I _ will decide when you’re wet enough, little girl,” he grits out.

You bite your lip hard when he grinds down again. The tip of his cock knocks against your clit, sending pleasure and tension shooting up your spine and down through your legs.  _ “Please, _ Professor, I’ll be good.”

His lips are against your ear. “Are you sure?” he purrs as he reaches over and grabs the condom. He expertly tears the wrapper open with his teeth. “Can you be a good girl and hold still for me?” At your frantic nod, “I expect you to wait until I tell you can move. Can you that for me, little girl?” he asks as he rolls the condom on with one hand, staring into your eyes the whole time.

“Yes, Professor,  _ please.” _

He tilts his hips back, taunting you by pressing his tip against your entrance, not  _ quite _ going in yet. The gravity of the situation is taking you apart at the seams. You’re not usually this sensitive, but your hips are twitching in aborted movements up against him, and somehow both hands have ended up on his lower back, your nails digging into his skin there.

“Do you think you’ve earned it?” he asks, his voice rumbling into your ear.

_ “Please.” _

“Hmm, yes,” he says thoughtfully. “I think you have, too. You’ve been  _ very _ good for me, love.” You feel his tongue on the shell of your ear and you cry out wordlessly.

“Ask me,” he whispers roughly. “Ask me nicely and I’ll fuck you, Y/N.”

It doesn’t even take half a second for his order to make it through your foggy mind.

_ “Please, _ Professor,  _ please _ fuck me, oh, fuck,  _ please _ fuck me, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, please fuck me, I’ll be so good-“

There, in the middle of your babbling, he starts to sink into you.

Now, you’re not a virgin, but it’s  _ tight. _ He’s  _ big, _ and you can feel the almost painful way he stretches you, once again forcing your body to accommodate his own. It’s intoxicating and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. You can’t help the whine that’s escaping your lips, or the way your eyes are scrunched up tight. You’ve got your face pressed against his broad (delicious) shoulder, and you realize dimly that one of his hands has come up to cradle the back of your head, holding you there.

He’s still whispering in your ear.

“You’re doing so well, love, I know it hurts, but you’re doing so well.”

In the face of this incredible moment, where you’re intimately wrapped around this beautiful man who you’ve wanted for so long, your heart thumps hard in your chest and you drop the character the two of you have built.

_ “Cass,” _ you whimper. When he stills, you dig your fingers harder into his back. “Don’t stop!”

You feel him smile against your ear. “Whatever you want, love,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so well, you’ve  _ done _ so well.”

He keeps up the gentle praise, and you keep up your almost rhythmic chanting of his name until he’s buried completely inside you, his balls pressed against your ass. You feel incredibly full, stretched almost to the limit. You may have had lovers who were bigger, but none who were quite this important to you.

It feels like he gives you  _ forever _ to adjust until he’s whispering in your ear. “Are you all right, love?”

You nod against his shoulder again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t apologize,” he says firmly. “I’m proud of you. You did so well.”

You can’t help but feel lighter at his praise. You nuzzle at his shoulder, pressing little kisses to the warm skin.

“You can move,” you whisper against him.

“Are you sure?”

“Very.” You smile.  _ “Professor.” _

He shifts to pull out very slowly, making you moan at the drag at your inner muscles. When he snaps his hips forward you cry out. He’s tilted just right to hit that spot that lights your insides up and makes it hard for you to focus on anything else.

Luckily, he doesn’t seem to need you to focus on anything else. He readjusts his position so he drives into that spot and fucks into you like a madman. You’re moaning and crying out and moving your hips to meet his thrusts, clinging to him like he’s a hurricane, which he kind of is.

He rears back out of your arms and pulls out of you. Before you can mourn the loss, he’s sitting back on his heels and hooking his hands behind your knees to pull you up into his lap. He lines you back up again and drives into you.

The new angle allows you to arch your back, but prevents you from really participating. He’s just driving into you, hard and fast and intense, and you just have to  _ take it. _

“Hands above your head,” he growls, and you never even consider questioning the order. Your hands fly up and twist in the sheets above your head as you wail out your pleasure.

He has one hand hard on your hip, keeping you just where he wants you, and the other comes up to roughly grab your breast. The feeling of his hands gripping you, one somehow flicking your nipple at the same time, is sending you to the edge of orgasm faster than you thought possible. You’re not really the kind of girl who can always come just from penetration, but god _ damn _ if that’s not right where he’s taking you.

“Can you come like this, little girl?” His voice is still growly, but it’s become more of a purr now. Smug bastard totally knows you can.

“Yes!” you shout as he hits your G-spot again. You can feel your orgasm starting to swell in your belly.

“Yes,  _ what?” _ he snarls, his hips never stopping, his hands gripping you harder.  _ Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, fuck! _

_ “Yes, Professor!” _ you wail out, your back arching drastically as you come harder than you have in recent memory. It washes through your whole body, making you spasm and jerk in his arms. You vaguely register his own rhythm faltering, then his grips gets impossibly harder and he slams into you one last time. He shudders and groans.

You release your hands and reach up to tilt him forward. He comes willingly until he’s bent in half, his forehead resting on your chest as you both catch your breath.

You’re still floating on endorphins when he gently disentangles himself from you. You hear him take care of the condom, then go into the bathroom and water running for a moment. When he comes back, he gently wipes you clean with a warm cloth. You’d be embarrassed, but his touch is so gentle and reverent you can’t find it within yourself to be anything but happy.

He lies down next to you and before you can awkwardly debate whether or not you can get dressed and get home with some dignity intact, he pulls you into his arms and settles himself on his back. You curl into his side, head on his chest, and close your eyes as his fingers start to run tenderly through your hair.

“Are you all right?” he asks softly.

You don’t even consider censoring yourself for a beat. “I’m  _ amazing.” _

He chuckles and it rumbles through his chest against your cheek, making you smile.

“Would you…” He sounds a bit nervous for the first time tonight. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?”

There’s so much hope in his voice that your smile gets even bigger and your heart warms in your chest.

“I would love to, Cass.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I wrote this whole thing hiding my face behind my fingers.


	5. Chapter Five

**_Six months later…_ **

You use your key to unlock the door to Cass’ apartment and let out a relieved sigh when the air conditioning wraps around you lovingly.  _ So hot, _ you lament.  _ So hot and awful. _

You toss your keys into the bowl he keeps in the front hall and make your way into the apartment. Cass’ place is nice, if a little on the messy side. He frequently gets distracted by whatever brilliant thoughts are racing around in his mind and he forgets things like folding laundry or eating. It means he leaves a lot of partially finished chores laying about. Lucky for him, his girlfriend doesn’t mind cleaning up after him.

_ Girlfriend! _ a giddy part of you squeals, but you keep it on the inside. You’re dating a super hot older man, now, you’ve got to be at least a  _ little _ mature.

That first morning, the two of you had a long talk over breakfast. While you both agreed to take it slow outside of the bedroom, especially since  _ in _ the bedroom things moved so fast, you also desperately wanted to keep doing whatever this was.

You were hesitant to put a label on this, but Cass wasn’t (he’s a bit of a sap, you’ve discovered). He immediately declared the two of you dating. He then proceeded to take you apart right there at the kitchen table, his blue eyes blazing with emotion and possessiveness.

You only had to keep it on the down-low until the semester was over, and that was two weeks ago. It’s been two weeks of dates and holding hands and letting the thrill of him kissing you on campus fill your belly with butterflies. It’s kind of wonderful.

It was this kind of kissing that attracted the attention of Dean Winchester.

Dean is one of Cass’ closest friends. He’s a professor, too, although you’ve never taken any of his classes. If you hadn’t fallen head over heels with Cass upon sight, there would be a real risk of you following Dean around like a lost puppy. He’s gorgeous, all tan skin and green eyes and laugh lines.

Dean flirts with you nonstop, and though Cas usually puts a possessive arm around you, he also smiles. For a dude who almost tore a server’s head off for being nice to you, it’s an interesting reaction, to say the least.

When you asked, he was honest. It tilted your world on it’s side. Again.

Outside of that, however, everything is shockingly… Normal. You go on dates a few nights a week, and you tend to stay in for the rest. The rare evenings when you’re at your own place are starting to feel cold and lonely. Your lease is up at the end of the year, but you have a feeling you won’t be signing another one.

You strip out of your clothes, toss them in the hamper, and step into the shower. You bathe quickly, and run a razor over your legs. Today is special, so you want to be at your best.

_ He’s going to freak, _ you think giddily, unable to stop your smile as you step out of the shower and wrap your hair up in a towel. The good professor isn’t the only one who can plan.

After drying off and hitting your hair with the blow-dryer, leaving it soft and flowy, you grab your bag and dart into his bedroom. Once the door is closed behind you, you unzip the bag and start to dress.

First is lacy white panties and bra. They’re nice, but relatively simple and chaste, really playing up the virgin angle. Next goes on a simple white button-down, which gets tucked into a plaid, pleated skirt in your school’s colors. Despite the rabid heat outside, you pull on a matching cardigan, too. It probably won’t stay on for very long, but you want to paint the whole picture.

You complete the look with white knee-high socks and a pair of black flats. You look at your phone. You just have taken longer in the shower than you thought, because now you only have a few minutes.

You hurriedly put your bag away, grab your towels off of the bed, and rush back to the bathroom. You hang the towels on their hooks, fluff your hair a little, and slap on some eyeliner and lipstick. It’s not a lot, just enough to smear a little.

Cass kind of likes leaving you smeared up and fucked out.

As you’re leaving the bathroom, you hear voices at the front door. Your mind goes to the text message you woke to this morning.

**From: Cass  
** Are you up for a scene tonight, love?

**To: Cass  
** Really?

**From: Cass  
** Only if you’re comfortable with it.

**To: Cass  
** Are YOU? You’re Mr. Possessive, not me.

**From: Cass  
** I have no doubt you’ll keep in mind who you belong to.

**To: Cass  
** Then hell, yes!

The thought of the messages makes you smile, which you quickly suppress when you hear the key in the door. You move so it appears that you’ve just stepped out of the bedroom, rearranging your features into wide-eyed, innocent surprise.

When the door swings open, Cass’ eyes are already dark with intent. If you weren’t already in character, you’d look down at the front of his pants to see if they were already tented. As it is, you resist the urge, although you’re willing to bet he’s at least half hard.

“Professor?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He smirks. “Little girl, have you been waiting for me like I told you to?” When you nod earnestly, his smile grows. “Good girl.” You preen.

He steps inside to place his briefcase just inside the door, and lo and behold, behind him stands Dean Winchester.

He’s eyeing you speculatively, but you know the part you’re supposed to play. You let your eyes widen. “P… Professor?”

Castiel doesn’t even look at you as he tosses his keys into the bowl and starts to unbutton his cufflinks. “I believe,” he says slowly, making his way toward you, “that you were inquiring about extra credit for this latest semester, weren’t you, Y/N?”

“Um…” You swallow and let your eyes fall to the ground shyly. “Yes.”

“Yes,  _ what?” _

“... Yes, Professor.”

You see Dean smirk out of the corner of your eye. “Got her trained pretty good already, Cass.” The way he speaks about you like you aren’t there makes you shiver.

“Indeed,” Cass agrees. He comes to stand in front of you. “Y/N has been having some particular…  _ Trouble _ in my class.” His fingers brush along your jaw. “Isn’t that right, little girl?”

Ah, he’s baiting you, but you know better. “Yes, Professor,” you murmur, though you do lean into his touch a little bit.

He hums his approval. “Good girl.”

The two men in the room seem perfectly content to just look at you in silence, and you do your best to fight the way you want to squirm under their attention. Especially when you hear Cass suck in a breath. He must have just realized what you’re wearing. He runs one finger, very delicately, along the neckline of your cardigan, pausing at the curve of your breast, his skin separated from yours by only the thin fabric of your shirt. You draw in your own shuddering breath.

You can tell he wants to ask you about the clothes, but he won’t break the scene for it. You can feel the excitement just  _ radiating _ off of him.  _ Nerd, _ you think fondly.

As it turns out, Cass has a real teacher kink, which brings you no end of amusement. He’s confided to you that he’s pictured you in the scenario you put yourself in, approaching him to ask for extra credit, a hundred times. You basically turned the guy’s life into his number one fantasy, it’s no wonder he jumped on board so fast. So you, in a schoolgirl outfit, looking all innocent, asking for extra credit?

Yeah, he’s not the only one who can plan stuff.

You finally peek up at him through your lashes. “I’ll do  _ anything _ to pass this class, Professor,” you say earnestly.

“Jesus,” Dean groans.

You finally raise your eyes to look at Dean, letting yourself get caught up in the green for a moment before turning to look back at Cass. “Sir?” you ask, letting your voice wobble a little bit. “What is Professor Winchester doing here?”

Cass’ mouth curves into a wicked smirk, and you see an answering look on Dean’s face. You can feel yourself starting to get wet just from the energy in the room, the way they’re both eyeing you like you’re a piece of meat. Your breath starts to stutter, and you know they can both hear it.

Cass’ smile could kill a lesser woman. “Well, Y/N, we weren’t getting anywhere on our own, so I thought Professor Winchester here could… Assist.”

You turn wide eyes to Dean. “Oh…” you whisper. “Um, really?”

Cass is so close that when he turns, his nose brushes against your cheekbone. “Yes, really,” he murmurs. “Don’t you want to pass the class?”

You blush and swallow. “Yes, sir, uh,  _ Professor, _ I mean, of course, I just-”

“Grades are due this week, you know,” Dean says, his eyes travelling slowly down your body, leaving a burning trail in his wake. “Not a lot of time to make up for… Mistakes.”

You exhale sharply, letting your eyes fall closed. While you love the game, and the setup is worth it, part of you wants to say the hell with it and drag both of them into the bedroom and demand that they ravish you.

Instead, you open your eyes again. You meet Dean’s gaze, then Cass. “I’ll… I’ll do  _ anything _ to pass,” you whisper, voice strained as if you’re reluctant when it’s really that you’re so horny you can barely stand.  _ “Please.” _

Cass’ eyes are black pools with thin rings of blue to show his irises. He brings one hand up to wrap it gently, almost lovingly around the side of your neck. His fingers sink into your hair. “Will you, now?” he asks, voice low and sultry.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Hmm,” he hums, eyes examining every part of your face. “What’s your safeword?”

You fight the smirk that wants to come to your face with practiced ease. “Angel.”

His hand clenches in your hair and pulls your head back, baring your throat to him. You can see his upper lip curl into an almost snarl, aggression and dominance taking over his entire countenance.

You  _ love _ him like this.

“Look at you,” he purrs, his voice soaked in danger and promise. “I bet you’re soaking wet right now, aren’t you, little girl?”

“I-”

He tugs harder, cutting you off. “Did I give you permission to speak?” You shake your head as much as you can, and he smiles. “No, I didn’t. You will be quiet until I tell you otherwise, am I understood?” You nod a little.

There’s movement to your side, and while you can’t turn your head to see him, you sense Dean coming to stand next to you. His hand is big and hot where it comes to rest at the small of your back. Where Cass has started to press chaste, gentle kisses along your jawline, Dean comes up on the other side to nuzzle at your neck.

“She’s good, Cass,” he murmurs, and you can feel the vibrations of his deep voice sink into you.

“Hmm, she is, yes. You should see her on her knees, though.”

Your breath catches and your eyes fall closed. You want to beg for them, either of them, both of them, but you stay silent and still. You stay good for Cass.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes out, his breath hot and wet on your neck where he exhales. “Yeah, yeah, I wanna see that.”

“Hmm, would you like that, little girl?” Cass asks, and you stay quiet because you know what he wants. “Would you like it if we put you on your knees right here? Suck Professor Winchester off in the hall? You may answer.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Professor, please.”

“No,” Cass says harshly. “No, not here. In the bedroom. I want you on the bed.”

You shudder at the command in his voice and wait for his hand to leave your hair before you turn to obey. You feel wildly on display as you walk into the bedroom with the two of them behind you. It’s a feeling you don’t know whether to enjoy or abhor, so you just experience it as you get into the room and hear the door shut behind you.

“Take your shoes off,” Cass says almost as soon as the door is closed. “Get on the bed and kneel, back to me.”

You scramble to follow his orders, kicking your shoes off, placing them neatly side-by-side, and crawling onto the bed. You kneel, your knees spread just a bit more than shoulder width apart, and sit back on your heels. You keep your eyes forward and your hands palms down on your thighs.

Cas has a big, king-sized bed. It makes sense, because the few times he’s stayed over at your place, the poor man’s feet have hung off the edge of your own full-sized mattress. His bed is nice, his comforter a deep blue color.

The blankets on the bed right now are a dark grey, a prime color for easily hiding any stains that get onto them. Before the two of you go to bed tonight, he’ll pull out the big blue comforter, wrap the two of you in it, and curl himself around you (Cass is a secret snuggler).

That’s not for right now, though. For right now, you watch hungrily as Dean circles the bed, his eyes devouring you. The front of his slacks are tented now and it makes your mouth start to water. He fumbles to get his own shoes off for a moment, then he’s crawling onto the bed to kneel just in front of you. He tugs you up so you’re on your knees proper with hands on your arms, until you’re inches from him. You can feel the heat beating off of him. You bite your lip to keep from whimpering.

His hands tighten briefly, then slide up so he can cup your face gently, He’s staring down at you, and while there’s dominance and hardness in his eyes, you can see the warmth and kindness there, too.

“You need to remind me what’s off limits, Cass,” Dean says, his voice rough with need.

“No kissing,” Cass growls immediately. The bed moves again and Cass is behind you, his hands landing on your hips. His lips come to brush against your ear as he speaks, and his fingers grip you hard, grounding you and making you shudder at the same time.

“No marking above the collar,” he continues, “or anywhere that will be reasonably visible if she’s wearing a normal t-shirt. We all got tested recently, so you don’t have to wear a condom, but you will  _ not _ come inside her. I’m still a bit possessive over that.” The words are rueful but his tone is dark, a warning. Jesus  _ Christ, _ you want one of them in your mouth  _ yesterday. _

Dean is nodding. “Good, good.” He meets your eyes again. “Remind me of your safeword, sweetheart.”

It’s part of the game, of course. The three of you sat down and discussed this in-depth before setting a date. Dean knows your safeword as well as you know his (“Impala,” after his beloved car).

“Angel,” you reply dutifully, promptly.

His smile makes your brain short out. “Good girl.”

His hands slide down your arms to circle your wrists. He tugs at them until your arms are straight and circles your wrists with his thick fingers, immobilizing you. Your breath catches in your throat, but before you can break Cass’ rule and make a noise, your boyfriend’s arms encircle you. He starts at the top button of your sweater and starts to undo it  _ agonizingly _ slowly.

He slowly unbuttons your cardigan completely, then starts on your shirt. Your breathing is labored now, and as soon as your collarbone is exposed, Dean attacks it. The skin reddens almost immediately beneath his lips and tongue. He bites down hard and sucks a dark bruise into the pale skin. Once he’s done, he worries the flesh between his teeth, making you writhe and gasp as delightful pain makes your thoughts go hazy and warm.

Cass has apparently finished undressing you, because his big hands run up your sides, beneath your own arms, and move to cup your breasts, making you gasp again. He gently thumbs your nipples through your bra, and being so exposed when both men still fully dressed makes you dizzy with need.

You turn your head to nuzzle your nose against Cass’ cheekbone, the only real way you can show how ready and wanting you are. He hums in appreciation and turns to kiss you deeply, possessively. His tongue invades your mouth and you shamelessly let him. You’re unable to stop the rocking motion of your hips, aborted, desperate little movements.

“Goddamn,” Dean’s voice is a bit dazed when he releases your abused and throbbing collarbone. “That’s hot.”

Cass pulls away and nods, his mouth slick and swollen. “Indeed,” he agrees, his eyes boring into you.

You’re so swept up in everything that is Castiel that when you feel Dean’s calloused fingers at the inside of your knee you jump a little. Your gaze swivels back to meet his, but he’s looking down to where his hand is travelling up the inside of your thigh, beneath the skirt. You’re helpless to do anything but spread your legs wider for him.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand not stopping until he’s cupping you through your underwear. His middle and ring finger press up into you, and you can feel how soaking wet you are. You’re certain his fingers must be damp even through the panties.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he practically purrs. “Feel how bad you need it?”

You don’t even get the chance to nod, or respond in any way, before Cas’ hand is sliding down, pushing your skirt up, and his fingers tangle with Dean’s, feeling for himself your wet heat. Your eyes roll back in your head and you can’t help the way you cry out a little, pushing into their fingers.

“Eager,” Cass chides gently before withdrawing his fingers and sliding them up against the soft skin of your stomach, back up to cup your breast.

“She’s practically  _ begging _ for it.” Dean’s voice is awed again.

“She always is.” Cas turns again to press his mouth to your ear. “Do you want to make Professor Winchester feel good, little girl? He is our guest, after all.” At your frantic nod, you can feel his mouth curve into a smile. “Good, good. I think you should suck his cock, what do you think? You may answer.”

You groan and tilt your head back to rest on Cass’ shoulder, your eyes closed. “Please,  _ please, _ Professor.”

“Don’t ask  _ me,” _ Cass’ voice sounds surprised. “It’s not  _ my _ cock. Ask Professor Winchester.”

Without hesitation or shame, you immediately straighten up, meet Dean’s eyes, and ask, in a hopeful, shaking voice, “Mr. Winchester, may I suck your cock?”

Dean hisses out a surprised breath and presses a hand to his cock, which makes you bite your lip in envy. “Jesus  _ fucking _ Christ,” he groans, letting his eyes flutter for a moment before he gets back into character. His eyes are scorching when he meets yours. “Yeah, sweetheart, I want that.”

You don’t get a chance to reply, really, because before you can, Cass is clamping a hand at the base of your neck and pressing you down. You go easily, willingly, always willing to move where Cass wants you. Dean backs up quickly and you end up on your hands and knees, at eye-level with his cock. You lean forward to nuzzle it, looking up through your eyelashes demurely. He groans a little, and you open your mouth to let out an answering whimper, breathing hot, damp air onto him at the same time.

“Jesus,” he says wonderingly. “You’re a damn menace, sweetheart.”

Cass chuckles, rich and amused, behind you. “I told you, she’s incorrigible.”

You watch, rapt, as Dean undoes the button on his jeans and slides the zipper down. He’s wearing dark blue boxers, and you can see the wet spot where he’s starting to leak precome. You immediately press your tongue to that spot, pressing into his slit a bit through the fabric.

He groans and tugs the waistband of his boxers down without further fanfare. His cock springs free, hard and flushed and lovely. He cards his fingers gently through your hair and firmly directs your head. You eagerly let him, opening your mouth to take the tip of him in.

The salty, heavy taste of him makes you moan, and you remember to look up at him again (a negotiated kink of Dean’s) as you slowly start to take more of him into your mouth, bobbing your head rhythmically.

“You can suck some cock, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and the long, lean line of his body is beautiful like this. His hips picking up your rhythm and starting to move with you, his upper body leaned back a bit to watch you, his arm bunching and relaxing as he moves your head as he wishes. You whimper and keep your eyes glued to his as you suck his cock.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of him in your mouth. His weight is heavy and silky, everything you want. You seal your lips around him and suck hard, moving up and down, savoring it.

It takes you by surprise when Cass’ long-fingered hands gently wrap around the outsides of your thighs, just above your knee. He moves them slow, slowly upwards, obviously watching where you’re sucking Dean off. You don’t let the touch distract you, but you widen your legs a bit more, pressing into it.

When he gets to your skirt, he simply pushes it up along with his hands without removing it. When he gets to your panties, tucks his fingers into the waistband and tugs them down. He leaves them halfway down your thighs, which makes you shudder and moan around the cock in your mouth.

Dean has slowed his pace, holding your head still as he leisurely fucks your mouth. His eyes are on Castiel now. You hear rustling, then the sound of Cass’ zipper. When he presses his tip against your soaking pussy, you moan and wish you could move back, take all of him in one movement, impale yourself on his cock.

Instead, he starts to slowly, inexorably push into you. He stretches you wide, just like he does every time, just this side of too painful. You can’t help the way you shiver and moan, sensations rolling through your body, up your spine and down your arms and legs.

Dean stops his movements altogether in deference to Cass’ entrance, but he’s got your nose pressed against his pelvis. Just as your pussy stretches around Cass, your throat is stretching around Dean. You stay where you are and don’t struggle, completely trusting the men with you. Cass knows your limits, he’ll let Dean know when you need to breathe.

Once Cass is all the way in, he stills, letting you adjust. Dean, on the other hand, pulls out a bit. You gag a little, sucking in breath desperately as tears gather in your eyes. Dean cups your jaw gently, running a thumb along your cheek. He’s still in your mouth, and you do your best to seal your lips around him again, sucking lightly as you try to get used to the overwhelming feeling of being filled so completely.

When you’re ready, you tighten your inner muscles around Castiel, making him stutter out a moan and grip your hips even harder. Again, if you could smirk with your mouth full of cock, you would.

As it is, you don’t get the chance, because Cass starts fucking you slowly, and Dean quickly catches on and matches his pace. You moan and buck a little between them, but Cass’ hands on your hips and Dean’s in your hair hold you fast, keeping you still as they slowly, steadily increase the pace.

You lose yourself in the push and pull, the slide of cock against your innermost walls, the way both ends of you are filled absolutely perfect, then left empty and aching and wanting at the same time. Gradually, their paces stop syncing up, and then it’s Dean shoving into your mouth as Cass pulls out, then Dean letting you breathe as Cass fills you up.

If you were the kind of girl who could come just from penetration (more than just the first time you were with Cass, which was an anomaly), you’d already have done so at least three times. As it is, the tension coiling in your belly and making you twitch is just getting tighter and tighter. There’s no way you can lift up to push yourself off the edge, and you wouldn’t do it without Cass’ permission, anyway. You can’t stop the whine that begins in your throat, desperate and ragged.

Luckily, Cass knows what you need. You feel him lean over you, covering your body with his. One hand leaves your hips so he can wrap his arm around your waist, keeping you against him as he ruts into you and asks, “Are you close, little girl?”

You moan in the affirmative, hoping to God he understands what you want.

He does. He uses the hand not holding your hip to slide slowly down the front of your panties, but doesn’t actually touch you yet. “Do you think you can come just like this? Just filled up with cock on both ends?” he asks,  _ knowing _ what it does to you when he talks like that when you’re this far gone.

Your mind is hazy with want, but you do register the way Dean’s thrusts are becoming erratic, a little rougher than before. “Cass,” he grits out. “She ain’t the only one who’s close, man.”

You can almost  _ feel _ the smug satisfaction coming off of Castiel, whose movements are still steady and punishing, driving into you hard with every thrust. He picks up the pace and starts to pant against your ear, his breath hot and urgent. “Do you want to come, little girl?” he growls.

You whimper and do your best to thrust back against him. He seems to get the message, and he finally,  _ finally _ touches you. When his fingers come in contact with your swollen clit, the feeling is so overwhelming that you shriek and arch your back, completely overtaken. Dean gasps and tightens his fists in your hair, fucking your mouth in earnest now. Cass just keeps up his ministrations, driving all three of you a little bit crazier.

Dean breaks first. With a deep, guttural moan, he pulls out of your mouth completely and uses one hand to jack himself off until he comes on your face. You close your mouth, not wanting to push it when it comes to Cass’ rules, but you revel in the way his spend lands on your cheeks and lips. His eyes are heavy-lidded and dark as he watches you, stroking himself, milking his orgasm for all it’s worth.

Cass, as usual, doesn’t come until you do. The way his fingers circle against your clit gets harder, more urgent, and faster, until you can feel the coil inside you snap and the wave of pleasure crashes over you, making you cry out and arch into him, pressing your back into his chest. At the same time, his arm clenches around you, holding you tight against him as he shudders and pumps into you a few more times before he comes, warmth filling you and making you whimper. You’re a little overstimulated and shaky, but you stay pressed against him.

A few long moments pass this way, the three of you catching your breath in silence. Finally, Dean reaches up to cup your cheek, ignoring the come he’s smearing into your skin.

Gone is the dominant man who came into the house with Castiel when you look up to meet his eyes. Instead, there’s the warm, funny, flirtatious Dean you’ve known for weeks, and he’s smiling kindly down at you.

“Heya, sweetheart,” he says softly. “How ya feeling?”

You smile dopily back. “I’m  _ amazing.” _

Cass snorts into your shoulder. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true."

Cass kisses your shoulder gently. “We should all go get cleaned up.”

* * *

After farewells are given, Dean heads home, citing the need to feed his cat. As soon as he’s gone, Cass takes you into the shower to wash you  _ thoroughly. _ No sex actually happens, you’re too achy and tired for it, but he gently makes sure that you’re clean and unharmed from the bout of rough sex.

Once he’s satisfied, he dries you off, then bundles you onto the bed. He wraps the two of you in his blue comforter, just as you suspected he would, and draws you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Was that all right, love?”

You realize, in that moment, that you’re going to fall in love with this man. You’re both taking it slow, so you haven’t said it yet, but the feeling is… Big. It’s big, and important, and somehow more comforting even than the soft blanket surrounding you.

You smile happily up at him, dazed and content. “That was perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Feedback gets my motor running!  
> \- Guys, this was so much fun to write. I might do a timestamp.  
> \- I hope you guys enjoyed my attempt at PWP. Tell me what you thought!


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